


save me (just kill me already)

by Gobetti



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Happy Ending, M/M, Never Trust a Troll, Suicidal Thoughts, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-03-08
Updated: 2012-03-08
Packaged: 2017-11-01 15:30:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,923
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/358410
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gobetti/pseuds/Gobetti
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Your name is Karkat fucking Vantas. You don’t die just because someone said you would.<br/>But you're actually not so sure of that anymore.</p>
            </blockquote>





	save me (just kill me already)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [shatterstag](https://archiveofourown.org/users/shatterstag/gifts).
  * Inspired by [Never Trust a Troll](https://archiveofourown.org/works/179227) by [shatterstag](https://archiveofourown.org/users/shatterstag/pseuds/shatterstag). 



> This is for my sweet moirail Stag, inspired by her wonderful fic, NTaT. Happy birthday, sweetie! I love you~
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
> \---

You’re going to die.

When they first told you that, you didn’t believe them. Of course you didn’t. You’re Karkat fucking Vantas. You don’t die just because they said you would.

But now, as they kick your ribs, and you feel one of the most agonizing pains you’ve ever felt accompanied by the unmistakable sound of something solid cracking, you start to believe their words. You realize that the statement wasn’t a threat, but an affirmation.

You’re definitely going to die.

The pain in your chest is sharp and vivid; it’s worse than anything you’ve ever felt, and it stands out over all the other cuts and bruises they’ve inflicted on you so far, bright and evident and just _real_. You can’t breathe, and despite that very real and very true fact, you’re hyperventilating, making every intake of breath harder than the one before it, worsening your agony by the second, and they’re laughing, laughing, mocking you and bragging to each other what a wonderful punching bag you make. You curl like a pathetic grub on the floor, tired and defeated, and you give up, allowing them to strike blow after blow after blow in your already sore body.

You’re finally accepting your fate, because hey, life’s a bitch, and in the end everybody dies, sooner or later.

You just wish it could’ve been the latter for you.

Despite the fact that it’s utterly humiliating to simply give in like this, to succumb like this, you’re… tired. You’re tired as fuck, to be honest, and you know that even if you were in any position to defend yourself, it’d be you against four adult trolls. You never stood a chance.

The end of this one-sided battle was decided the moment they took the first step towards you.

They stop their blows for a few seconds, but it’s a temporary relief and you know it; they’re not done with you. They’re probably just checking to see if _you’re_ done. So instead of staying still, you try to roll over; a sharp pain in your chest stops you from moving too much, but it’s all the reassurance they need. Next thing you know, something heavy strikes against your forehead, _hard_ , and you can’t see, hear or feel anything else anymore.

\---

You open your eyes after god knows how long, and after a couple of minutes of only being able to pay attention to the unbearable pain you’re feeling, you try to make out what’s happening, realizing that you’re actually being _carried_. They’re walking through the forest, carrying you like a potato sack, with no grace or care at all – why would they, you tell yourself, if their intention is to probably dump your body – and even though you can’t make out everything they’re saying over the insistent buzzing in your ears, you realize that they think you’re dead.

You’re not. Not yet, at least.

You’re at loss as to if that’s a good or a bad thing.

Finally, _finally_ , they crash you to the floor, and as if it just wasn’t enough to just dump you anywhere, they drop you down a fucking cliff. You roll down like a rock, your clothes and cape wrapping around you, the bumps and irregularities of the steep bringing every single wound in your body back to life, burning beneath your skin like they’re on flame. After a few seconds that felt too much like a whole minute, you come to a stop, lying on your side, cheek flush against the moist dirt. You’re sort of relieved that after that little stunt nothing else in your body is broken, but you’re absolutely sure that the damage to your cracked ribs got a lot worse after that fun ride. The now ragged fabric of your clothing is tightly wrapped around you, gratefully shielding you, even if just partially, from the cold night; but its thin protection isn’t nearly enough to keep you from freezing to death by dawn. The trolls cackle somewhere far away, and you notice with a sharp inhalation of relief that they’re finally leaving. _Good_.

You have no idea where you are, but you couldn’t care less. All you know is that it must be far from home, because you don’t recognize the sounds, the smells or the vegetation. Whatever. What does it matter anyway. Deep down, you know exactly where you are: your death bed. That’s all this place is to you, and that’s all it’ll ever be. You honestly hope that a wild animal of some sort kills you before you die of hypothermia, or either that you die of hypothermia before boiling down under the morning sun.

You try to breathe, despite your wish to die – fuck survival instinct –, and even though it’s hard, you notice that you’re still able to do it. It’s shallow, it’s barely there, and it’s impossibly hard (something as simple as breathing should never be this hard god damn it), and you doubt that your chest is even moving, which only helps to give the impression that you’re dead meat. And you know for a fact that wild creatures don’t usually feast on dead things. _Shit_. Hypothermia it is, then.

But just as you’re beating yourself up, trying to take deeper breaths, to seem more alive and appetizing, you hear something approaching you. _Yes_ , you think, _finally_ , and you try, with no avail, to move, even if just a little bit, just to show that you’re still… relatively _fresh_. But with the cloth wrapped tightly around you plus the unbearable pain in your chest, it’s nigh impossible, so you give up – again – and decide to just stay still and pray that the thing realizes you’re alive.

You hope it makes it quick.

But it doesn’t.

The thing walks towards you and stops, not even approaching your body.

You want more than anything to turn around and shout at it, snarl, curse, tell it to _get on with it already_ , and when you feel a sharp object pressing against your side, nudging you _gently_ , you freeze.

Oh, god no.

The thing nudging you moves, slowly, carefully. You would’ve let out an exasperated sigh if only you could, because the last thing you need is careful right now. The pointy object catches on the hem of your cape and unwraps your body, gently, _cautiously_.

You hear a gasp.

Oh, _hell fucking no_.

It’s a _human_.

Well… this is good, probably, you think. At least you won’t be chewed to death. They’ll probably just get the sword that they nudged you with and slit your throat, maybe stab you in the guts, make you bleed to death; it’ll be quick and not as painful, and yeah, it’s actually a really good thing that it’s a human who’s going to end your misery…

But then the stupid idiot crawls up to your side – shit, what the hell are they doing?! – and presses two fingers against your bloody neck.

They sigh with relief.

You don’t.

You definitely don’t.

They reach up to you, and you feel the warmth of their legs against your back as they roll your body towards it. A few clicks and clacks later and they’re bandaging you up. The fabric of your oversized hood is hovering over your face, therefore covering your eyes, and fuck, you can’t even see the imbecile craddling you in his lap. You assume they’re a he, though, given the rough feel of his hand against your skin, the deep tone of his voice when he sighed and the not so delicate legs supporting your weight.

When he finally finishes what he’s done, he picks you up – if only you could move or talk (or even breathe as a matter of fact) you would’ve flinched and shouted in pain from the way the ungraceful motion made your ribs ache –, places a small, almost weightless lantern over your chest, and then everything gets colder as he wraps you both in a strong breeze, carrying you away from your death bed as quickly as he and the wind can muster.

He’s not going to kill you.

_He’s not going to kill you._

You were right all along.

You are _not_ going to die.

_Relief_. All you feel is relief, and you relax, let you mind wander away from your current situation; you’re so content, so utterly glad that someone found you, that for a second you can barely even feel your wounds anymore, and that second is all it takes for you to fall asleep in the boy’s arms. It’s a small joy that you relish in but soon fades when you find yourself waking up abruptly; they human’s balancing you awkwardly on his arms to open the door to what must be his hive, and when he carries you inside the warm, cozy room, you don’t even know what to think anymore. You can barely believe you’re safe and alive – and yet, when you remind yourself that you’re inside a human hive, you’re a bit uncertain as to whether being alive right now is actually a good thing.

After opening another door somewhere and closing it behind you two, he slowly lowers his arms and places you over a soft surface, removing the lantern from over you, and you appreciate the abrupt change immensely. Your body is splayed out comfortably, and even though you still feel dizzy and tired as fuck, you can breathe a little better, and your chest is finally rising and falling with the rhythm of your breath. The human approaches you again, takes your limp hand to access the damagfe in them, and hesitates. He turns the floppy limb around his own fingers, carefully pulls your sleeve over your wrist and up to your elbows, oh _no_ , and you can feel him shaking, _what is he doing_ , and he reaches out with one hand, pulls your hood off your face, and—

The human holds his breath.

You hold yours too because only a moment later he invades your personal space and slides a trembling hand through your messy hair, finally finding your small, blunt horn with the tip of his fingers.

The invasive touch sends enough endorphins through your body to wake you up from your dying stupor, but the boy is already yelping loudly and dropping your hand back onto the soft cushion beneath you.

You think about moving for a while, but decide against it. The boy just realized you’re a troll, _obviously_ , and is in deep shock. Though you can’t see him, you can hear him from across the room, breathing heavily, whimpering lowly. Not moving.

But you ignore the boy for now. Because something amazing is happening.

Your heart starts beating faster, and the worse wounds over your body are throbbing uncomfortably again, and you think that if you tried you’d be able to actually lift your fingers. It’s a wonderful sensation, and you honestly don’t even know why the hell you wanted to die so badly anymore, because you’re feeling the flame of being alive again, the hope of actually surviving, and if you just lay there for a while, you can fool yourself into thinking that tomorrow you might be able to get up, and that you’ll walk back into the forest, find Terezi, get better, _live_ , you can do this, _it’s possible_ , you’re not going to give up like this, _hell_ , you’re _Karkat fucking Vantas_ , and _damn all_ , _you are going to live_.

And just as you’re cracking the tiniest of grins over your dry lips,

you hear the boy unsheathing his sword.

Your heart stops.

One step. Two. Three steps.

You feel his body hovering yours. You can see him holding his sword over his head, even behind your closed eyelids. You just can.

He stands there for even longer than he stood on the corner of the room, and you know that that means that he’s having second thoughts. And maybe that’s good, because you'd never be able to defend yourself from him, to tell him that you changed your mind, that you _want to live_.

_…fuck._

You think to yourself, as you wait, wait, wait for him to strike the first blow,

_this is **not** fair._

So you move.

You fucking move, because _fuck you,_ this is _fucking ridiculous._

“If… if you’re going to kill me, just get it… fucking over with already.” You mumble, turning your head slowly, and your lungs and neck complain loudly, but you pay them no mind. Fuck them too.

Your eyelids seem to be made of lead, but you force them to move too. You were right – it’s a young human boy, and he’s stepping back, walking away from you, completely terrified. He’s shaking really hard, and the grip to his sword is more than just a little loose by now. So you keep going.

“Though I… have to say… that’s fucking low… saving somebody and then killing them. Pretty brutal, for a human.” You manage to blurt out, and the last words are the worst; you feel something fluid and warm and utterly uncomfortable sliding on the back of your throat as you speak – you realize a bit horrified that it’s your blood – and you cough, trying to relief the terrible sensation of drowning on the thick liquid even if just a little bit, but it only makes the pain in your chest worsen. This is _terrible_. You knew that you were being a fool when you told yourself that by tomorrow you’d be cradled in Terezi’s arms as she shooshed you into a nice, warm slumber, but you had no idea you were this fucked up.

The tips of your fingers are getting cold, and the last remains of the endorphin are slowly being washed away from your system.

You’re not going to last long.

You wish he hadn’t lit up that spark of hope in you; it just made it that much worse to know that you’re going to die.

“But… I didn’t mean to!” the boy stutters, and you listen to him, even though you really don’t want to. “I… I didn’t know you were a troll, I wouldn’t have… I… you’ll kill me if I don’t!”

Oh, god.

He can _ **not**_ be serious.

You laugh at how ridiculous that premise was – or at least you try to. What you end up doing is let out a painful mix of growls and coughs mixed with a laugh of sheer disbelief.

This boy is completely _mad_ if he thinks you could actually attack him in your situation – much _less kill him._

“You fucking… serious?” you manage to mutter, raising your head a few inches to look straight at him. “I can barely  _breath_ , asswipe, I could… couldn’t even kill you if I wanted to. At least I don’t go butchering people who save me.”

“B-but…”

You sigh, defeated. He’s not going to do anything, is he. To make matters worse, you can feel the life slowly draining out of you as your body gushes out what little blood you still have in your system through the open wounds where blood just couldn’t coagulate. You’re tired, _so damn tired_ , and all that happiness of being alive just to find out that _no_ , you fucking idiot, you’re _actually_ going to die, _stop deceiving yourself_ , has worn you out more than the actual beating you just went through. And in the end, you’re stuck with a human who is both too scared to help you and too terrified to kill you!

Just your luck.

Sometimes you wish you were Vriska.

(but then, not really.)

“If you let me bleed out like… this… I will honest to god haunt you for the rest of your life.” You say, letting those be your final words as you lay back over the soft furniture, relax, let your eyelids close and… wait.

Just wait.

You hope the kid got your message, that he’ll spare you from suffering more than you already did, and that he takes your final wish as seriously as he should take your threat.

And somehow, you’re not surprised nor upset when you hear the clang of the sword as it hits the ground, followed closely by the boy, who slumps down to the floor and starts to sob. Somewhere deep down you knew he couldn’t do it, but you’re not really mad at him for letting you die like this.

You’re probably just way too exhausted to feel emotions anymore.

And as you’re drifting back to sleep, knowing that this time, there’ll be no turning back, you hear the boy shifting on his knees towards you. You open your eyes, warily, watching as he reaches for the bandages he hastily wrapped in your waist back in the forest, face still wet with tears that haven’t stop rolling down his eyes. You open your mouth, try to say something once, twice, cursing yourself mentally when all that comes out from your ragged lips are pained moans. Finally, you manage to croak out, words shaky and unsure.

“W-what are you doing?”

“Saving your life.” The boy answers, and you can see the sheer determination in his eyes when he speaks that simple sentence, the braveness from the way his voice didn’t break, how he didn’t hesitate nor stutter.

But before you could say anything else, before you let that spark of hope lit up inside you again, you think to yourself, **_whatever_**

and you fall asleep once more, not really so sure anymore that you won't wake up again.


End file.
